


Bury My Lovely

by LadySybyl



Series: October Project [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, John's past, M/M, Mentions of original character death - offscreen, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Slash, Reichenbach Falls, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySybyl/pseuds/LadySybyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was two decades later, but John still remembers what it is to grieve when your world ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cover The Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This story takes place both directly after The Reichenbach Fall and as part of John’s past. I'm going to attempt to make it relatively canon compliant through The Empty Hearse, and possibly Sign of Three, with a Johnlock twist. I will *NOT* be including Mary Morstan as anything but a potential villain.

_2011_

John didn't think Sherlock had ever asked why he didn't have much of an extended family, or even why he was willing to look at a flatshare with a man he only barely met. He wonders if the reason would surprise Sherlock now.

****

John knows that Mycroft is going to arrange the funeral, and under the numbing anger and pain, he is grateful. He knows that he would crumple like a tower of dominoes, accelerating its own inevitable chaos at the slightest touch.

The hospital keeps him overnight, at first mistaking his silence and almost catatonic visage for more severe brain damage. But it isn't John's brain that is damaged.

****

John's steps up to the flat are slow. He remembers Sherlock bantering as he stepped inside after chasing the cabbie. Already he can feel the cramping in his leg, signaling the limp's return.

It isn't until John gets back to Baker St that he thinks about his clothes. In the hospital he simply put on what he had been wearing when, well, when they admitted him. As Mrs. Hudson fusses over him, he realizes the cyclist did more damage than the bump on his head, his jumper and shirt are torn.

"I can't believe it. I simply can't John. Why? Why would he..?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Hudson. I just don't know."

"Well, let's get you cleaned up then. Look at you, all torn. I would have brought you better clothes if you'd rung me."

"I didn't notice."

"Well, go get a shower, I'll lay something out for you. Just this once."

His gaze gets caught in the mirror over the mantle. It had been a long time, but he remembered that expression. Not even when he had been invalided had his face worn that look. In fact, it wasn't his face that he remembered the look from. It was Granny Eva's face that bore that look. The day they buried Granddad Hamish.

****

_1981_

John had spent every summer since he could remember in the countryside with his Granny Eva and Granddad Hamish. He was really looking forward to this year, because Granddad had said there was a litter of sheepdog puppies at the neighbor's, and Granddad said he could have one!

The next two weeks were going to take forever, John thought, but then he would have the whole summer with Granny and Granddad. John skipped up the front walk, happy another day of school was behind him.

"Mum, I'm home! Just two more weeks! Mum?"

John approached his mum. He knew she hadn't been feeling well, the new baby brother or sister kept making her sick, making her laugh all funny or cry for no reason. But this seemed different. Instead of the loud sobs or high, squeaky laughter, there was just silence and muffled sniffing.

"John, come here and sit down." John's mother Mags gestured to the sofa at her side. "Granddad --"

"What? Mum, what's happened? Is Granddad alright?"

"Oh, John. I'm so sorry. Your Granddad, well, they think he, he had an aneurysm. He just, keeled over." Mags voice hitched as she spoke. "The doctors say, he didn't feel anything. It, it was quick."

"I, I don't... What, what are you saying? He's going to be fine, Mum. He--" John gasped, his throat feeling like it was closing up.

"I'm so sorry, John."

"No. No! I, I was supposed to spend the summer with him. What about Granny? What is she going to do? I was supposed to get a puppy!" John flushed as he heard himself. He wasn't a baby to be crying, but it seemed like he couldn't help it.

"Well, Granny Eva said for you to come. In fact she wants you there as soon as you can be. She wants you there for the funeral on Monday. She said you needed to be there." Mags reached out an uncomfortable hand, awkwardly patting John's shoulder.

"What about you, Mum? Are you coming too?"

"No, dear. I'm, well, it's not a good idea for me to travel in this condition. Maybe once the baby's born."

-*-*-

John doesn't remember the train ride to Ulgham. He knows his mum put him on the train that afternoon, that he arrived so late that the station office was closed, and his Granny's neighbors were waiting on the platform for him to arrive.

"Don't worry about your bags, lad. We'll fetch them in the morning." He remembers the neighbor putting his arm around him, guiding him down the steps from the platform out to the waiting car. “Here now lad, we'll get you home.”

He remembers his Granny meeting him at the door, thanking the neighbor, and ushering him inside.

“Oh, Granny!” John buried his face in her dress.

“There now, lovey. Don't get all worked up. I know, dear one, you love your Granddad. I love him too. For tonight, it's time for bed. Come along now.”

“Yes, Granny.” John was far too tired and sick at heart to argue.

****

_2011_

The air in the flat was unaccountably heavy, John's breath rattling in his lungs and throat. Yet at the same time, the space was emptier than he had ever imagined it could be considering how much of their lives was scattered about. He stared blearily at himself in the mirror over the mantle. His expression shocked him, the lines and bruising leaving him almost unrecognizable, even to himself.

Blasted open by the rawness of the expression, John crumpled to the floor. His hands shook as he retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed a number from memory.

“Hello?”

“Granny? Gran; I know you hate London. I know it's hard for you to travel, but... I need you, Granny.”

“My dearest boy, what's wrong? What happened? I thought you were happy in London, helping your detective.”

“Oh, Gran. He's, he's, gone.” Just saying the words made John gasp.

"Oh, my boy. My dearest boy. Of course I'll come. How soon?"

"Oh, not for a couple of days, I believe. Mycroft is handling all of the details. I'm not, not family."

"Pfft. You are more that boy's family than his brother, from what you've said, but I understand. Ours is not to question. I'll take the train down tomorrow. You remember when the London train leaves, yes? What station is closest to you?"

"We're right around the corner from Marylebone, or you can come in to St Pancras or King's Cross if it's easier."

"Meet me at King's Cross."

"Yes, Granny. Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too, my dearest boy."

 


	2. Hide In Your Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half of this chapter takes place in John's dream, represented by italics. Within that are some words in bold. Those indicate moments when John is speaking aloud in his dream.

Gradually, John became aware of the fading light in the sitting room. As he attempted to stand up from where he had dropped to the carpet his right leg collapsed under him, streaks of pain like sickly green lightning shooting through the muscles. The physical sensations of pain were so unexpected that he was unable to hold back a sharp cry.

"John? Is everything alright? Are you hurt?" Mrs. Hudson hurried up the stairs as fast as her own hip would allow.

John clenched his jaw, trying to get his leg to respond without much success. The muscles kept spasming, leaving him unable to put weight on the leg, unable to pull himself off the floor.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Hudson fluttered about. "I don't think I can lift you, John. Do you need me to call someone? That nice DI, maybe?"

"NO! No, sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I just need, well, could you push my chair over? I think I can pull myself up if the chair's a bit closer."

"Certainly. I think your old cane is around here somewhere. Do you want me to fetch it for you?"

"Yes, thank you." Slowly the spasms tapered off, and John was able to pull himself up into the chair. Tentatively, he began massaging the thigh muscle, trying to work out the residual twitches.

Mrs. Hudson bustled back in with his cane and a small pill bottle. "Here you go. I didn't think you'd have any pain medicine in the flat, what with Sher... Anyway, I brought you up one of my soothers. Just let me make you a quick cup of tea, then you can take one and lay down."

"Mrs. Hudson, you're a saint. I, truly, don't know what I'd do without you."

She smiled sadly at the lost look on John's face and set about making tea.

****

_It's the dust he recognizes first. Everything is dust here. It swirls up, stinging in his eyes. Just beyond the wall he can hear shouts, screaming, the sound of boys dying, of gunfire and IEDs._

_He leans over the wall, knows what he'll see. Thinks he's prepared. He's been here before. Knows the wind, knows endgame. But this time. This time is different. Endgame changes. That isn't Private Gordon, there on the ground. That isn't Private Gordon's blood pooling under a still face and unseeing eyes._

**_No._ **

**_No._ **

**_NO!_ **

_The word is a scream in his head._

_A frantic scramble over the wall and he's grasping at the unresisting flesh. The skin is still warm to the touch, but cooling rapidly. More swiftly than the hot, dry air would indicate. The stones under his knees are flat gray concrete._

_"Turn around and walk back the way you came."_

**_No._ **

_"It's all true."_

**_No._ **

_"Nobody could be that clever."_

**_No._ **

_"Keep your eyes fixed on me."_

**_Always._ **

_"That's what people do, don't they?"_

**_NO!_ **

_An IED goes off. The scene fractures. Bill Murray's there now, dragging him back behind a wall. The wall is different. Right. This is the house they holed up in, in Helmand. The house where Bill saved his life._

**_Please, God. Let me live._ **

_Someone's whimpering. He doesn't remember whimpering. He can't get enough air. **He doesn't remember how to breathe.**_

"Breathing's boring."

_Not when you've **forgotten how**. The world gets very grey. The dust swirls around his face, dragging like fingertips over his cheekbones.  
_

_  
_"Yes, you remember. In and out, that's the way." _Bill shook him "Stay with me, keep breathing you bastard."_

**_Remember now._ ** _His chest loosens, even as his shoulder goes numb from the morphine in Bill's pack._

“Goodbye, John."

**_No._ **

_He's on the pavement outside Bart's again. He knows he's yelling, but it's like the world is on mute. There's no sound at all. He can't hear his own breath, his own heartbeat. The stillness is absolute. Everything is stopped. The birds hang in the air. The people are stopped mid-step. Except one. Flailing against the suddenly still air. Terrified. In that moment, afraid. He runs toward the figure. Dodges the bike, knows it's coming. But the faster he runs toward Bart's sidewalk, the faster the figure falls._

**_NO! Sher--_ **

"It's a trick. It's just a magic trick."

_Abruptly the silence is broken. He whimpers again. **My friend.**_

"Listen."

_Over the sounds of the city, the shrieks of bystanders, the blare of car horns, he hears the slow soft swell of strings. His whimpers soften, slow._

"Follow the music, John. You've done this before."

_Yes. He's followed the music before. When he was trapped in Helmand. In that horrible house with Bill Murray and the burned out walls. The music leads him back to London. Back to Baker St._

"Barber's Adagio for Strings. Remember, John. Adagio for Strings. On the desk."

_He smiles into the darkness. The music brings him back, keeps him safe. The music feels just like a kiss on the forehead._

****

 


	3. Forget What They Told You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva arrives from Northumberland.

_2011_

John was glad Eva chose King's Cross, really. The bigger station was bustling with traffic. People in large stations don't have time to stop and gawk. They just hurry onward, occasionally glancing at him, wondering. Leaving the flat had been horrific. Even going out the back through Mrs. Hudson's flat, there were reporters lingering in the alley waiting for him. He simply kept his mouth shut and pushed passed them. John texted Mycroft.

**_there are reporters outside baker st. get rid of them._ **

Understood.

So John waited on the platform for the Northumberland train to arrive, trying to ignore the whispers around him.

"John!"

John turned at the call behind him. Even through the pain in his heart, he couldn't help smiling.

"Gran! Was the train alright?"

"It was lovely. I'd forgotten how pretty the countryside is in May." Eva held her grandson tightly. "Oh, my dearest boy. I am sorry. I know you loved him."

John's breath hitched. Of all the people in the world, he knew his grandmother understood the pull Sherlock had had on his heart and his life. They stood for a moment on the concourse, holding tight to each other.

"Now, the trip might be lovely, but the food definitely leaves something to be desired. Is that little Polish place still across from the music academy? I'm in the mood for comfort food."

"I believe so, I visited just after I was invalided home. And as for comfort food, that sounds fantastic. I haven't been hungry since, well..." John grabbed the handle of her suitcase, a lovely, sturdy thing he had bought for her while she visited him just before shipping out to Afghanistan.

"I understand dear. I seem to remember a certain someone convincing me that if nothing else, pudding should be eaten every night." Eva slipped her arm through John's and they set off down the concourse to the taxi rank.

****

_1981_

John kicked listlessly at the base of the hedge he was hiding under. He and Granny had buried Granddad a week ago, and every time he thought of it, he got a little cold ball where his stomach belonged. He thought Granny might understand. She hadn't eaten at tea all week. Oh, she'd sit with him, and move the food around on her plate, but she didn't eat any of it. He was starting to get worried. It was almost tea time now, and he was getting the cold ball in his tummy again just thinking about Granny being so sad.

"John, dear! Time to come in for tea!" Granny called from the back door.

John dragged himself out from under the hedgerow.

"Oh, look at you, all over leaves in your hair. You look like some wild forest creature! Go wash your face and hands." Granny scolded him, but he could see the tiny twinkle in her eyes. He and Granddad used to come in from the fields and barns much dirtier, and Granny would just tut and tell them to go wash up.

John tromped into the tiny washroom off the kitchen and splashed cold water on his face, scrubbing it off with a washrag Granny had left on the edge of the sink for him. Having obeyed the spirit, if not the letter of the command, John shuffled back into the kitchen and sat at his place at the table. Granny had made bangers and mash, which was usually one of John's favorites, 'cause Granny would use the funny named sausages she made herself, the kielbasa, and serve them with spicy mustard and sour cabbage. Comfort food from the old country she called it. Today, though, he watched his granny cut up the kielbasa into tiny pieces, and not eat a bite.

"Granny?"

"Yes, dearest?"

"My tummy hurts."

"Oh, dear, did you eat the green apples in the garden? They're not ripe yet, dearest."

"No, Granny, I didn't eat the green apples, I'm not a baby anymore. I know they're not ripe till they've got red on them. That's not why my tummy hurts." John huffed indignantly.

"Oh, why does your tummy hurt, then?" Granny raised her eyebrow.

"My tummy hurts because we're sad, and you're not eating, and I don't want you to go away like Granddad did. And Missus Boggis down the road was talking about how Missus Post just wasted away after Mister Post died. And I couldn't bear it if you wasted away!" Even the thought was too much for John to bear and he flung himself at his Granny, wrapping his arms around her and burying his head in her neck.

"Oh, my dearest, my John. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you." Granny patted his back soothingly. "You miss him too, I know. It's just hard right now. I'm not going to waste away. I have you, don't I, my John? You'll keep me right."

"Sometimes when I'm sick, mum lets me choose just one thing to eat, something that makes me feel better. Maybe we can pick something like that?" John pulled back a little ways, keeping one arm around his Granny and wiping his face with his other sleeve.

"Here now, where's your handkerchief?" Granny pulled hers out and wiped the rest of his face. "That is quite the good idea. What shall we pick as our feel-better food? We can make it together."

John screwed up his face and thought. This was an important decision. It needed to be yummy, and comfort food, and enough to make sure Granny didn't waste away. That was it!

"I know, Granny! Let's make nalesniki! That's the best comfort food ever!"

Granny laughed, and even though it sounded a little rusty, John was glad to hear it. He leaned into Granny's laugh.

"That's a perfect feel-better food! Let's put the kielbasa up for now, and I'll make bubble and squeak with it for breakfast, how about that?"

*****

_2011_

"Alright dear, I've let you off the hook long enough," Eva said as John sat down across from her in the booth at the back of the restaurant. "What happened?"

"Have you been reading the papers?" John asked.

"You know I do a bit, my eyes aren't what they used to be."

"Then you heard about the Pentonville Prison breakout, the attempt on the Crown Jewels, the break-in at the Bank of London? All orchestrated by one man. James Moriarty, also known as Richard Brook."

"One man? How could one man do all three?" Eva leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand.

"He claimed he had a code that will unencrypt any software, allow him to access any database. He as much as admitted his guilt, but you remember, he was acquitted on all counts. Sh... He even testified, but it did no good." John took a deep breath, remembering their arguments over the trial. "Moriarty walked away. Somehow, he convinced a journalist that Sh, Sherlock had hired him to pose as Moriarty, to make a name for himself solving crimes. Apparently, we should have been watching more children's television, as Richard Brook has spent the last 2 years being 'The Storyteller' on some kid's program."

John clenched his fist, his hand trembling with remembered anger. As he sat breathing through the emotions, their waiter came to take their order.

"I'll start with the kwasnica, and for the main I'd like the koldung with meat and mushrooms and salatka." Eva requested, handing the menu to the waiter.

"And for you, sir?"

"I..." John had barely looked at the menu, nothing appealing to him.

"He'll have the half order of the bigos for starter, and the zrazy with sour cream. We'll split an order of nalesniki with cherries and bita smietana for dessert." Eva reached out and laid her hand on John's, a reminder of that long ago day when her little boy had loved her out of wasting away.

"Very good. I'll be back with your starters in just a minute." The waiter smiled and took the order back to the kitchen.

"Thank you so much for coming, Granny."

"Always, my dearest. Now, how did this monster getting acquitted lead to you calling me and demanding I come to London?" Eva tried to throw some humor into her voice, knowing that whatever came next was infinitely worse than what had come before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hope is that this gives enough of the story. I assume that all my readers (all 10 of you amazing people) have seen The Reichenbach Falls. This story follows canon up to about 2:30 from the end of the ep, when John says he hasn't been back to 221B. In this, John doesn't run away, he calls in a support system and actually processes his grief. 
> 
> I also want to give a huge shout-out to chappysmom here on AO3, she is a huge inspiration for this work. Go find her! 
> 
> This is the playlist that this work is based around: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLnoibHsvAWiyflzQGPS-MysiVg7hP9DbS
> 
> The first three pieces are what the three parts of this series are based on: Bury My Lovely - which is John's story, Ariel - which is Sherlock's story, and Return to Me - which is the return and it's fall-out featuring both of them. 
> 
> The rest of this playlist are the songs I am listening to while writing Bury My Lovely. They are more about mood than direct takeaways to the story. However, the last song in the list is Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings directed by Leonard Bernstein, which features in the previous chapter and will feature again.

**Author's Note:**

> The story title and chapter titles are based on the song "Bury My Lovely" by the group The October Project. The series title is from the band that wrote the songs.


End file.
